O you who pass, halt and remember
What tyrant holds your life in bond;
Remember the fixed, reprieveless hour,
The crushing stroke, the dark beyond.

And let us now, as men condemned,
In peace and thrift of time stand still
To learn our world while yet we may,
And shape our souls, however ill;

And we will live, hand, eye and brain,
Piously, outwardly, ever aware,
Till all our hours burn clear and brave
Like candle flames in windless air;

So shall we in the rout of life
Some thought, some faith, some meaning save,
And speak it once before we go
In silence to the silent grave.
Eric Blair

The whirring of the helicopter would not subside as he was reminded of consciousness by the blinking of his eyes.  Scrolling down the screen at the numbers for the over/under on his death is constantly amusing to him.   There are now cartoon Nazi villains threatening a reset, poison pushers threatening passports into normalcy, and he was watching himself die because he was convinced his eyes at least took some part in causing this.  He travelled through the explosions of distraction his eyes have caused.  He watched the acceptance of the perpetual death machine bred from his ideas that would not disappear.  The script once again appeared before him.  The shadowy hand once again blocked his vision.  He looked for an escape but can only see the sound bites haunting him, the ones he placed within his films, the ones the shadowy hand allowed to flow through his mind.  He watched the children being taken away, their minds hovering above their bodies.  A shadowy hand passes across his vision as he sees it's not The Colonel doing this, it's him...he shouts I was one, I was one of them when you took...me away.

The spells were cast, still regurgitated from the massive vortex of dying ideas, he found one that came from deeply within him.  He began to randomly insert them into the violent bloodbaths he was creating on the screen.  The fire was lit within him, yet that script which grew bigger every time it would appear, would not relinquish its power over him.  

He focused into his forehead on the screen in front of him as he heard her calling out to him.  Down a long corridor of mirrors she attempted to escape only to be trapped in her own house of mirrors as they began to crack.  He noticed the fire appearing in his eyes once again.  The whirring enters his hearing and with each revolution of the helicopter blades he watched a child disappear into the darkness.  And he entered into that night from long ago, the glass house, something being placed into his eyes.  There was a mirror on the floor, he saw his eyes bleeding pink as he fell to his knees.  She was still calling him, trapped down a long corridor.  Her voice echoing through the house.  My eyes were never the same...I was no longer looking through them...Colonel what are you holding?